


All the Threads of Light

by LeeMac



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Atypical Comfort, F/F, Hair, Light Angst, Shaw's Safe Place, soft murder girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMac/pseuds/LeeMac
Summary: Root and Shaw have a quiet afternoon together and begin to evolve their unique means of taking care of each other.





	All the Threads of Light

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs sometime after Root and Shaw start having sex, when Shaw is still in her old apartment before she's taken by Samaritan.
> 
> I wish we'd seen more of the moments and events where Root gradually became Shaw's "safe place".
> 
> By way of a little inspiration from Sarah Shahi singing a lullaby, <strike>which I now cannot find a link to</strike> [Found it!!!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BgxFUx4g6LV/?hl=en)
> 
> Thanks to @SloanGreyMercyDeath for happy beta-ing and kind words!
> 
> (Non-US spelling is all my own fault.)
> 
> Rating for mentions of sexual acts and feelings (but no actual sex).

Root wasn't sure why she was surprised at first that Shaw liked it so much. She absolutely knew by then that Shaw was a deeply sensual person, appreciative of her own body and what it was capable of. That she took good care of it like the finely-honed machine that it was. That, when Shaw was in the right mood, she loved to display it in the feminine trappings of nice dresses and shoes, good makeup, and mouth-wateringly divine high-end perfumes. And that she _liked _the attention she got when she was “looking good”. 

Excepting the almost constant subtle presence of her perfume (which Root will always associate with Shaw and her personal aroma), Root realised that she'd assumed those feminine touches were costumes that Shaw put on (as Root did herself for a persona), rather than a very real part of herself. Those occasional times of putting herself on display being comparable, maybe, to the way in which she was mostly aggressive and demanding in bed, but at other times she wanted Root to take complete control, use her, fuck her to oblivion. A total break from her usual, self-imposed constraints. 

It started when they'd spent half a day screwing each other's brains out after a mission. For some unknown reason that particular day, Shaw had not immediately tossed Root back out on the street afterwards. She'd made a snack for both of them (to Root's utter shock, which she somehow managed to hide from Shaw), and, after eating, she had plonked herself down on the floor by the couch with a few tools and a gun that had a faulty extractor mechanism, giving no hint that she wanted Root gone. 

Not being one to look the gift horse of more Shaw-time in the mouth, Root ran out to a nearby deli to grab a couple of coffees and some snacks to replenish Shaw's supplies (or for bribes, same thing). By the time she returned, Shaw had her back propped against the couch arm and was still fussing over her repairs. She took her coffee in an absent-minded fashion, not acknowledging Root's "Here you are, sweetie", or shifting her baleful gaze from the bits of gun scattered on the floor between her legs. 

Squelching her usual urge to offer some help (Shaw _never _wanted help, particularly when it concerned guns), Root stretched out on the couch with her coffee and leaned back on the arm next to the other woman, facing toward the window. She closed her eyes against the afternoon sunlight and communed quietly with The Machine while Shaw continued to growl and mutter at stupid shitty-ass extractor springs. 

* * *

Some time later, Root surfaced to become aware she was lazily running her fingers through Shaw's loose ponytail from underneath, letting the ends stroke her palm as the silky strands slipped through her hand. She simultaneously realised that Shaw had finished fixing and reassembling the gun some time before... and she had _not _pushed the hacker away from her. Root's fingers hesitated midway through their next stroke as her brain urgently tried to reboot and determine _what now_? 

After a few beats while Root completely failed to do or say anything, Shaw cocked her head to the side and gave Root a standard-intensity frown. "You could do something useful while you're there and get the hairbrush from my dresser." 

She leaned away from the couch, obviously expecting Root to get up. With a swallow and a quick sideways glance at Shaw's profile, which only displayed its usual neutral expression, Root jumped up and almost tripped over herself to reach the dresser. 

The hairbrush lay facing up, and Root instantly recognised its shape and the red-orange rubber the bristles were embedded in. Mason Pearson. How had she not noticed it before? Of course Shaw would only have the best, but Root still kicked herself internally for her lack of attention to detail. _Shaw's_ detail. 

She picked up the brush, put her usual flirtatious smile back on her face, and bounced back over to the couch. By reflex, she almost opened her mouth to remark on the other fun uses for hair brushes, when a particular quality about the look Shaw was giving her made the words die away unspoken. 

"What are you waiting for?" was all Shaw said, jerking her chin at the seat behind her. 

She scooted her butt away from the couch and Root hastened to sit down, swinging her leg over so that the smaller woman was between her knees. Shaw leaned backwards until her back pressed lightly against Root's shins and she flipped her ponytail over so that it mostly lay on Root's thighs. 

Root willed her hands not to shake—it was ridiculous to feel this nervous about something so simple—as she lay the brush in her lap. She gently took the fall of hair (_how many times already had she wrapped it in her fist to hold Shaw in a useful position?_) and smoothly eased the hair tie off. She slipped the tie onto her wrist and, with both hands facing up, slid her fingers underneath Shaw's hair, until their backs skimmed against Shaw's head. Spreading her hands, she gently finger-combed Shaw's hair out until it lay loose over her thighs. 

Shaw let out something like a soundless sigh and her back relaxed almost imperceptibly against Root's legs. A bolt of hot lust shot straight into Root's groin at the unexpected hint of vulnerability, but she suppressed it viciously. Now was most definitely_ not the time_, no matter how much Shaw's slight movement echoed the moments during their more arcane activities when she finally relinquished her usual tight control over her body and fully gave herself over to Root. 

Root took a very slow, controlled breath and picked up the brush. She ran it up the first few inches of Shaw's hair, took firm hold of the lock just above the brush with her free hand, and unhesitatingly pulled the brush back and though, leaving the hair smooth and shining behind. She took hold again a little further up and repeated the motion, pulling the brush firmly all the way through to the ends. She found herself quickly getting into the swing of it, going section by section up towards Shaw's head, leaving smooth silkiness behind with each deliberate stroke. 

The rhythm of her hands gradually brought Root into an almost meditative state. Her own hair was one of the few physical attributes she put consistent effort into maintaining, outside of her nails, her weapon skills, and the hand-to-hand training Shaw had been giving her. No matter how much time she spent on her hair, though, it was not the same as brushing someone else's. Almost inevitably, memories of Hanna began to seep into her mind at the association. As it happened, the first person's hair she'd cared for other than her own had been Hanna's. 

Root had never been interested in the usual activities young girls did together, but she and Hanna had bonded over schoolwork and a shared love of computer games and a few other geeky things. It rapidly became much more than simple friendship

When she somehow learned Hanna loved her hair being "fussed with", Root had desperately wanted to do it, despite her initial distaste over what she saw as the _girliness_ of the activity. But, not quite to her surprise, she'd loved the feeling of Hanna's hair in her hands, the act of brushing it out and making it shiny-beautiful, and the way Hanna took obvious enjoyment in her hair being cared for. Doing each other's hair became a ritual, often while watching Pepper Ann episodes at Hanna's place. 

Those times with the two of them together, when something physical was a pleasure rather than a mere bodily weakness, were the start of Root's realisation that girls would mean something different to her than boys did. After Hanna "disappeared", she'd grown out her own hair as a kind of homage to that realisation and to Hanna herself.

One benefit of puberty's eventual arrival—beyond shooting up tall enough so that she was never _the shrimp_ again—was that her hair had become darker and more wavy, and looked pretty damn good with proper care. All these years later, no matter how rushed she might be, taking care of it always brought memories of taking care of Hanna's. 

For once, with her hands continuing to run through Shaw's hair as she slowly brushed, those memories gave Root a feeling of slightly melancholy calm rather than outright aching loss. 

* * *

Shaw felt warm. Not just in the physical sense—it was a pleasant spring day outside—but something that was almost physical felt warm inside her. 

Maybe not so surprising, since Shaw's maman had brushed her hair before each bedtime as a child and every time she stayed at her mother's house as an adult. It was a form of body contact that Shaw had learned to rely on whenever anything else felt too much, and she had always associated it with her mother's warmth and calm presence. 

(Later, as an adult, Shaw had learned about sex and violence, individually and together, as alternative, effective means of grounding herself from too many feelings being projected at her. Those were not _warm _experiences. Nor calm.) 

Shaw's analytical side had determined many years ago that higher-order emotions were just difficult for her, whether felt at that lowered volume inside—_thanks for the observation, smartass Gen-kid_—or encountered in others. She dealt best with mammalian instincts—fighting, eating, fucking, hunting. She guessed that grooming was cat and ape behaviour, so that worked too. 

Shaw was ...content that Root didn't seem to be fucking up her hair right now. She'd had her hands in it plenty before, almost constantly while they were having sex; she had a solid grip and could pull good and hard when required. Not a single misplaced pull right now though, just firm steady brushing in a nice rhythm. It was definitely relaxing. 

There was a slight pause while Root put down the brush. She began to run her fingernails over Shaw's scalp, lightly scratching to get the blood circulating around the hair follicles. Shaw was often pissed at how much the woman seemed to _know_, even when it couldn't possibly be Sentient Siri feeding Root the info. But, when she wasn't being infuriatingly smug about it, some of that random knowledge definitely had its advantages. There was still no way that Shaw was going to let on how good those fingernails felt at that moment—the nerd didn't need an even bigger head. Even with Root being strangely (blissfully!) quiet so far. Whatever. Shaw refused to expend any brain power right now on wondering why. 

After some exquisite minutes of tingly scalp massage, where Shaw's eyes would have rolled up in pleasure if she hadn't already closed them, Root picked up the brush again and started giving her hair delicious long smooth strokes from scalp to ends. It really was pretty damn good. Almost as good as the way maman did it. 

Other than professional hairdressers, no-one else had brushed Shaw's hair since she last saw her mother. And no hairdresser could ever replace maman. The smell of her perfume and the little rosewater-scented cookies she liked to eat sometimes, the touch of her delicate hands in Shaw's hair, the occasional breath stirring fine tendrils at Shaw's neck, and the sound of her low sweet voice humming Persian melodies and the occasional Disney tune as she worked had always made Shaw feel as if she were immersed in the perfect bath. 

Floating in quiet comfort with no need to speak or act or be anything. Nothing was expected of her other than to be loose and accept the sensation of her hair being cared for. And to relax into the warmth that grew inside with that sensation. 

* * *

Root felt content, despite her slight lingering pensiveness. Miraculously, no bitching had been heard at all from Shaw's end. (Root had _no _illusions about how much the other woman would loudly and vehemently express her displeasure if she screwed this up.) Shaw's hair was looking absolutely beautiful now, giving off a rich sheen in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, reddish highlights lustrous against the deep sable. 

Root began to slow down and lengthen her brush strokes to prepare for finishing up. Suddenly, she had to suppress a start. Was Sameen ... _humming_? 

Root had never heard her sing or make any kind of musical sound before, beyond her chirp of a whistle. But a low melodic hum was definitely coming from Shaw as Root slowed her brushing. After a few moments more, tears suddenly rushed into her eyes as she recognised the song—_Stay Awake_, from Mary Poppins. 

Root would literally rather put a bullet through her brain at that moment than hint that she'd noticed, or do _anything _that might cause Shaw to stop. She bore down hard inside herself, not allowing a tear to fall or hand tremor to escape, and continued to slowly brush and arrange Shaw's hair in exactly the same way as she had been. 

Her tears eventually retreated, and after a couple of minutes, the humming tailed off into calm silence. With careful hands, Root lightly coiled Shaw's shining hair and lay it back over her shoulder, ready for her to put up in its customary ponytail. They sat together a little while longer, Root's hands loosely cupped around Shaw's shoulders, Shaw's back warm against her legs, as the sun dipped towards the city skyline. 


End file.
